The Storyteller Becomes the Story​by Emily Reed

James Gregory wasn’t the type of man you’d expect to be idolized. He wasn’t a looker and he had a rather gangly frame, an awkward gait, and he garishly drank his weight in alcohol. Still, every night, men and women alike packed into a pub the size of a mouse trap to hear his booming voice retell stories of his amazing feats serving in the army. He spoke of saving countless lives from detonated bombs and most frequently, he bragged about his perfect shooting record. He insisted that he was injured in the war and traveled across the Atlantic Ocean for rehabilitation. He showed them the Purple Heart in his back pocket and the drunken Brits believed him.

“A smashing fella!” They remarked. “Shame he has a gammy leg.”

His disability didn’t bother them one bit. People came to the pub because they had faithin his abilities to lighten the mood in an instant. Everyone in town knew his unofficial slogan read, “Got tossed by a slag? Feeling gutted since she left? Come right down to the pub for a shant and a cheer up.”

However, James wasn’t always the chief storyteller. Years ago, a burly challenger came to town. This man was two heads taller than James and could lift a table with his pinkie. In other words, he was quite the physical specimen and James was not.

The women swooned over his fit physique and flanked him on all sides when he began to speak. He spoke of his time in the Royal Navy aboard a warship where they were under constant attack. He heroically saved his friend from the jaws of death when a shark had bit his friend and he tore off his own shirt to stop the friend’s bleeding. People not limited to the female gender began to gather around this stranger as they left James in the dust.

James drank another beer and decided they could have their fun. They’d come back to him tomorrow when this foreigner left.

Low and behold, the next day the clanger came back to the pub. James was miffed that he had the nerve to show up on HIS turf. James couldn’t set back and let him take the throne that was rightfully his.

James slid into the chair with all intentions to strike up a chin-wag. He was as sober as the day he was born when he ordered a beer for himself and one for the foreigner. Then, the foreigner looked him straight in the eyes and laughed. He said, “You’re that bloke everybody’s been scraffing about! The man with two first names!”

James stirred in his seat, feeling a bit taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

“You ‘eard me. What kind of ‘er name is James Gregory?”

“A fine name, thank you.”

“Tosh! You probably bought that Purple Heart in ‘er ‘rift shop!”

James didn’t know why the prat was rambling on about his name and then his disability when they barely knew each other. Obviously the man was positively sloshed and James pinched the skin between his temples because he couldn’t be bothered to deal with this lunacy.Having adopted the niceties of British culture, James thought it was best to leave immediately and pay for drinks. When he stood up to place the pounds on the counter, the man grabbed him by the shirt collar and said, “Come here you silly bugger.”

The extremely inebriated man tried to yank James back to his seat but James punched him in the nose before he had the chance. ​People were shocked that James, who was normally so amicable, had it in him to punch a man in the face. Legend has it that there has not been another challenger since the man scampered out the door with his tail between his legs. (Though the black eye James was sporting the next day says otherwise.)